She had stolen the seed pod from Kew, years ago, when “borrowing” was still considered acceptable.
Cossetting it, encouraging it, keeping it safe. It took such effort. Gardening was her solace.
He picked the best stems, laid them on the coffin, and then, afterwards, poured bleach carefully over her plant.
Janet, who grew up near Detroit, now lives in Edinburgh and works for the newest Scottish university. She is a rubbish gardener.
The key suspect in the case was Mrs. Kee, an old granny, always angry and grumpy. Homicide had taken place; an innocent sunflower had been stepped on. She had the perfect motive: she hated anything happy and colourful.
The foot smashing had a perfect imprint of her silk slippers, size 6.
Today’s story was submitted by Jason Wiradharma.
Popular opinion held that a plant would be the next entity to achieve sentience but, surprisingly, it was a plastic that broke the barrier.
Soon, a rapidly proliferating breed of newly emotional and very apologetic dishes and jugs swept the markets, resulting in a lot of crying over spilled milk.